How I got over my green guilt

Feeling remorse that you don't do enough for the planet? Try making small changes that reap big benefits—then stop beating yourself up.

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You know that sinking feeling you get when a cashier asks whether you prefer paper or plastic and you realize you’ve left your cute canvas eco-totes at home? That memory blip causes me serious shame; it’s the one cookie that ruins my whole environmentally friendly diet. Sometimes, I can’t sleep at night thinking about all the plastic bags I’ve used, taking up space in some landfill, destined never to decompose.

Like millions of others, I saw Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth and vowed to change my use-it-once-and-chuck-it lifestyle. So I stopped idling my car, became a recycling maniac and switched to natural cleaners that leave my wineglasses spotty. I now use cloth napkins, which, after washing, I hang to dry. I have also swapped out fluffy toilet paper for rough rolls made from at least 60 percent postconsumer material, despite protests from my family. And I can’t help preaching to anyone who’ll listen. Before we see friends, my husband, David, reminds me, “Please try not to bring up drowning polar bears tonight—it’s a real downer.” In short, I’ve become an incessant eco-nag.

Blame my obsession on my former instant-gratification mentality. (I used to drive my Saab with the air conditioner on and the sunroof open.) Going green seemed like an opportunity to absolve these past sins. But the more I learn about the climate crisis (e.g., the United States produces more than 20 percent of the world’s carbon dioxide pollution—greater than India and Japan combined), the more I suspect I’ll never be able to screw in enough compact fluorescent lightbulbs to prevent the Alaskan glaciers from melting. There are days I feel so hopeless about the planet that I give up and let the bathroom faucet run while I brush my teeth, then I hate myself for the next week.

I may be extreme, but I’m not alone. I met a woman who had traded in her tampons for something called the DivaCup, which collects menstrual blood in a small reusable container she swears is a cinch to insert. A colleague mentioned that she’d begun composting in her small New York City apartment, worms and all. These stories make me feel even more guilty that I haven’t tried such things myself. Clearly, I’m turning into a self-hating environmental fanatic.

To be honest, I’ve always had a perfectionist complex, constantly questioning how good a mother I am and whether my size 8 frame is svelte enough. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve mostly come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be supermom to my young boys, Conrad and Dashiell, and that my body is fine the way it is. Except, now that I’ve stopped fretting about those other things, I’ve filled the slot with worries about the environment.

Even I could see that my do-good efforts were making me miserable. To find out why, I visited Peter Schaeffer, Ph.D., a psychologist in New York City. I immediately had a confession for him: “I take hot-yoga classes,” I said, ashamed, then explained that I do hot yoga, where the room is heated to a wasteful 95 degrees, because it keeps me from yelling at my kids, amps up my sex life and melts the jiggle off my butt. I’m sneaking behind the earth’s back to benefit my backside.

“It doesn’t matter if you do hot yoga or cold,”

Schaeffer explained. “You’ve lost perspective, just like an obsessive dieter or a plastic surgery junkie. This kind of thinking stems from the belief that you’re not good enough and need to fix yourself.” His response resonated with me, but I had to wonder if Schaeffer even recycled. Instead, I asked him, “You think people who live green do it because they feel bad about themselves?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I’m saying that your version of being green, in which you think you’ve failed because you take hot yoga, may be linked to your not feeling good about yourself. If you did, your yoga routine would make you confident, not ashamed. If you pay attention only to the negative, the good you do will never be enough. In your system, there are no rewards; you can only mess up.”

I left feeling annoyed.

Learning to give myself a break could take years; I needed an answer now. So I called Paul C. Stern, Ph.D., director of the Committee on the Human Dimensions of Global Change at the National Research Council in Washington, D.C. “Going green is hard,” Stern admitted. “Even with all your efforts, you have reason to feel as if you’re spinning your wheels, especially because, without widespread policy changes, you won’t see a big shift in the environment.” Was he suggesting I throw in the towel? “Keep trying,” he said. “But guilting yourself isn’t helpful. It makes more sense to put your energy toward something concrete, like emailing your politicians and urging them to do more.” I felt empowered by this idea and glad that someone had said it: Living green may be essential, but it isn’t easy, and nobody can do it perfectly all the time.

I got home to find that Conrad had a friend over for dinner—a boy whose mother, I happened to know, feeds him only organic food. Sadly, we were out of organic chicken, but we did have the regular kind. So I used that. Conrad’s pal pointed to his plate and asked, “Is this organic?” My head shook no, but my mouth said yes—I lied to a 6-year-old about his dinner. Later, when David was sorting our recycling, I told him what happened and wondered if I should call the boy’s mother to confess. “You have to stop this craziness,” he said, putting a milk carton atop a pile of plastic bottles and heading to the garage. I shouted after him, “Honey, that carton should go in paper, not plastic!” His back was to me, but I could tell he was rolling his eyes.

For the sake of my sanity (and marriage), I called another expert—Tal Ben-Shahar, Ph.D., author of The Pursuit of Perfect (McGraw-Hill). He told me I’d feel better if I aimed to be an eco-optimalist rather than a perfectionist. “An optimalist has high standards but is also comfortable failing. And if she does fail, she directs any guilt and self-knowledge to a more beneficial outcome the next time.”

I thought about my latest dilemma: our family’s search for a new car. I had been feeling lousy about not committing to a model that gets at least 30 miles per gallon—the standard most experts suggest—and for weeks, I had been walking into dealerships and apologizing for not wanting a hybrid. After talking to Ben-Shahar, however, I decided to recycle my guilt into positive action. On my next car-shopping trip, instead of offering up hybrid excuses, I said, “My life requires a midsize car that gets as close to 30 miles a gallon as possible but that also holds several kids for carpooling.” (Car pools are good for the earth!) That helped, but appreciating my daily efforts to conserve still felt like a stretch. “People are more successful when they reflect on small wins,” Ben-Shahar advised. “You need to savor the changes you do make.”

Before bed,

I grabbed a recycled notebook and listed that day’s acts of environmentalism and my feelings about them:

Packed the boys’ lunches in reusable containers. Experienced guilt for putting a plastic straw in Dashiell’s but told myself that it would prevent a spill that would need gobs of paper towels to sop up.

Took a hot, relaxing shower (it’s the only time everyone leaves me alone!), but at least I shaved with a razor made from recycled plastic yogurt containers.

Dried off with a bamboo towel. (Bamboo is renewable!)

Saved energy by air-drying my
hair instead of using the blow-dryer.

Scooped the dog’s poop in the plastic bag the newspaper came in. Worried about not using biodegradable bags, but it’s greener to reuse what I already have.

Walked a few feet to my home office; felt grateful that my commute didn’t require me to get in my car and burn fuel.

I turned out the light, and, rather than fretting over how to atone for the years I kept the shower on while making the bed, I took a deep breath and let my past sins go. I had been using guilt to goad myself into doing the right thing, I realized—an exhausting tactic. I’d been the guilty mother leaving her 3-month-old to go back to work and the guilty dieter indulging in a late-night treat. Over time, I had managed to forgive myself for all that, which is what I needed to do now, even with a problem as daunting as global warming. I decided I’ll be as green as I can be, even if that isn’t perfect. Then I promptly fell asleep, which was a big relief, especially because I had to get up early for my hot-yoga class.